


Prompt 6: I Feel Faint…

by irrationalgame



Series: Thommy Comfortween Prompts [6]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Comfortween, Flu, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Unconsciousness, jimmy plays nurse, thomas is unconscious for most of this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:48:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26863936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irrationalgame/pseuds/irrationalgame
Summary: Comfortween prompts from https://hurtcomfortex.dreamwidth.org/22946.html6. I Feel Faint…Caring for someone who has lost consciousness.Thomas catches the flu and passes out. Jimmy can’t help but think of his mother.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Jimmy Kent
Series: Thommy Comfortween Prompts [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949317
Comments: 3
Kudos: 49
Collections: Comfortween 2020





	Prompt 6: I Feel Faint…

Jimmy shivered and rubbed his hands together, the smoke from his cigarette curling away into the frigid night air.

“I’m sick of this weather,” he said, kicking a mound of slushy snow away from his feet.

“Me an’ all,” Thomas nodded. His cheeks and end of his nose were chapped and red from the cold. “Might have to give up smoking until this bloody snow melts.”

“You couldn’t if you wanted to.”

Thomas smirked; “You’re probably right there. Hurry up though, I don’t want to catch that blasted flu.”

A particularly unpleasant strain of flu had been making rounds of the Abbey, both upstairs and down. Carson had been bedridden for almost a week, which spoke volumes about how bad the flu really was - normally neither hell nor high water could separate Carson from his duties. Then Mrs Hughes has come down with it a day later. Anna and Baxter had taken over some of her jobs but Thomas had been dealing with the lion’s share of it all and was run off his feet. Jimmy had taken to staying up late with him, ostensibly to help with the menus and inventories. In all honestly he was nervous - the whole thing reminded him too much of the Spanish flu for comfort. He was barely sleeping and when he did manage to nod off for a while, his dreams were filled with images of his mother, a sheen of sweat on her face as she twisted and writhed on her sickbed.

“We’ll probably all get it, can’t be helped when we all live in each other’s pockets,” Jimmy threw the dog-end of his smoke into the slush.

And is if to prove him right Thomas sneezed several times, sending his cigarette flying across the yard.

“Bloody hell,” he sniffled into his handkerchief, “what will we do if I come down with it an’ all?”

Jimmy thought for a moment; “Would I be in charge then?”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “I think Carson would have to die before you’d ever be left in charge.”

Jimmy scooped up a handful of snow and pelted Thomas in the face with it before running inside.

* * *

In hindsight it had probably been a bad idea to throw snowballs at a sick man. By the next morning Carson and Mrs Hughes were no better and Thomas was _worse_. Jimmy’s anxiety increased every time Thomas coughed or sneezed.

“Are you sure you’re alright to serve this morning?” Jimmy asked over breakfast.

“Not got a choice really,” Thomas said and he knocked back a beechams powder like it was a dram of cheap scotch.

By lunchtime the under-butler was worse still and was now covering for Bates too, as he’d fallen victim to the epidemic. Jimmy kept a watchful eye on Thomas as they served upstairs luncheon to a reduced gathering - both Her Ladyship and Edith were laid up in bed with the illness. As the family chatted idly over their soups Jimmy willed them to just hurry up - Thomas was waning, his face pale with beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. He was half-way over to the servery when he collapsed into a dead faint on the dining room floor.

“Thomas!” Jimmy dumped the serving dish he was carrying and kneeled at Thomas’s side - he was out cold.

“I’ll call Clarkson up again,” Lord Grantham said, “James, can you and Alfred get Barrow up to one of the guest rooms?”

“I’ll help you,” Branson chimed in.

Between the three of them they managed to get Thomas up the stairs to the gallery and into one of the guest bedrooms. Alfred started a fire and Jimmy removed Thomas’s shoes, tie and collar. His skin was clammy and he didn’t even stir when Jimmy tugged his jacket off.

“Come on Thomas,” Jimmy whispered, “don’t do this to me, alright?” He couldn’t help but remember his mother’s losing battle against the Spanish flu - he couldn’t even think about Thomas dying like that without his throat closing in panic.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Branson said, “but it’s hard not to worry about the ones we care about.”

Jimmy nodded tightly. He had to be alright.

* * *

Soon enough a tired and harried Doctor Clarkson arrived.

“Near half the village has this blasted flu,” he said, checking Thomas’s temperature, “but thankfully it’s not as life-threatening as the Spanish flu was.”

Jimmy let out a sigh of relief.

“That being said,” Clarkson continued, “Barrow here seems to have a particularly bad case. His fever is high and ordinarily I’d send a nurse up to watch him, but I haven’t got anyone I can spare.”

“I’ll do it,” Jimmy said immediately, “that is, if you don’t mind, Milord.”

“No, of course not,” Lord Grantham replied. “I’ll inform Mrs Patmore that she’s now in charge of downstairs.”

“You’ll need to keep his temperature down below one hundred and four - get him out of this livery and don’t let the room get too hot or cold,” Clarkson instructed.

“I nursed my mother when she had Spanish flu,” Jimmy said, “I know what to do.”

* * *

Stripping Thomas down to his undergarments felt like an awful violation of his privacy, but Jimmy knew the under-butler would probably prefer he did it to anyone else. Jimmy spent the night perched on the plush guest bed, bathing Thomas’s forehead with a cool cloth and rearranging the blankets to keep him as cool as possible without catching a chill. The under-butler was paler than usual, but otherwise perfectly peaceful, like he’d just drifted off to sleep rather than fallen into some soporous state. Jimmy brushed Thomas’s hair off his brow and ran the pad of his thumb along his jaw.

“Come on Thomas,” he said, “you need to wake up now.”

Nothing.

“You’re - you’re scaring me now mate.”

Jimmy hopped off the bed to throw another log on the fire and had to take several deep, slow breaths to calm his nerves and ease the tightness in his chest.

“I keep thinkin’,” Jimmy continued, settling down next to Thomas on the bed, “the last thing I said to you was something about the bloody bread basket. Wouldn’t it be stupid if those were my last words to you?” He checked Thomas’s temperature with the axillary thermometer Clarkson had left behind for him to use - it was still lingering around a hundred and two degrees.

“Y’know,” Jimmy resumed bathing Thomas’s brow, “it only took three days for me mum to die. After me dad was killed in action she - she just sort of gave up on life anyway. I think she was glad to be dyin’, like I weren’t enough to stay alive for. Thomas - only three people have loved me in my entire life, and the other two are dead, so please - don’t you leave me as well.” His eyes stung and he had to blink back his tears.

Silence, except for the crackling of the fire.

“The thing is, I - I’ve never really needed anyone before. After my parents died I made the choice to be alone, not to get too attached to anyone because, let’s face it, everyone dies or leaves me or - or decides they don’t need me anymore so - so I was _Jimmy contra mundi_. And I was doing fine y’know, I were dandy until you came along and - and made me care about you. Because I do, I do care about you Thomas.”

Not a dicky bird.

“Alright, it’s more than just caring about you. You’re my best friend - I’ve never had a friend like you an’ I don’t know what I’d do without you now I’m used to it.”

Nada.

Jimmy sighed and took Thomas’s temperature again - one hundred and one. The sun was just beginning to chase away the blackness from the horizon and Jimmy stared at the band of orange-blue sky - they’d made it through the night.

“It’s almost morning,” Jimmy said, running his fingers through Thomas’s hair. “Could really do with you waking up now.”

Bugger all.

“Listen,” Jimmy said, desperation creeping in, “I’ve not been a good friend Thomas and I’ve made such a bloody cock up of everything. But if you come back to me I’ll - I’ll put it all right. I swear I will. Because - well - you mean more to me than just a mate. You’re - you’re everything to me and I - I do love you. I always have y’know. I’m just a goddamn idiot.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and found his cheeks wet though he hadn’t meant to cry. “Look, I’m blubbing like some dopey girl over you - happy now?”

Shite.

“Bloody hell Thomas, what are you sleeping beauty or something?”

Well, that was an idea.

Jimmy leaned in, vaguely aware he was probably going to catch the damn flu, and laid a chaste kiss on Thomas’s mouth.

For a moment there was nothing then, slowly, Thomas’s lips moved against Jimmy’s.

Jimmy pulled away - Thomas’s eyes were open and he was staring at the footman in disbelief.

“Jimmy,” he said, his voice rough, “what’s happening?

Jimmy put his arms around Thomas, relief washing over him, “Thank god, thank god you’re alright.” And he kissed Thomas again and again, the blasted flu be dammed.

* * *

  
Jimmy never did catch the flu.


End file.
